


the whole world is sleeping, but my world is you

by mysoulrunswithwolves



Series: i'll carry you away into the velvet sky [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Creature Fic, I was just really into Oliver with wings idk, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, and it's just straight fluff, bird boy Oliver, literally no angst really, snake boy Marcus, this was pretty fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysoulrunswithwolves/pseuds/mysoulrunswithwolves
Summary: “Mother, can you pass me the bread?” He asks instead, pointedly looking anywhere except for at Marcus who he just knows is smirking at him across the table. He settles for kicking his shin under the table and watches in satisfaction as Marcus winces. His mother passes him the bread.Marcus has only been here for a week and Oliver can’t decide if he wants to hit the smirk off his face, or kiss it off, but he’s tired of seeing the wry twist of Marcus’s lips directed at him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flintwoodandco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flintwoodandco/gifts).



Oliver has always loved the feeling of flying.

As natural to him as breathing, he can’t remember a day when he didn’t stretch is wings and fly. Being in the open sky, whirling and diving through the air, always puts him in a good mood, no matter how crazy his day is.

It’s probably because of this that his parents chose right when he lands on the aerie balcony to ambush him with the news.

“Oliver,” His father starts, tucking his large black wings tightly to his back, “It’s time you did your duty to our people.”

“What?” He says, and struggles to pull his mind away from the tight sequence of spirals he’d managed to pull off earlier in the sky.

“We found a way to make peace with the Slytherana,” His mother says, tawny wings loose and relaxed around her.

“Great,” says Oliver, “What is it?” Their two clans have been at war as long as Oliver can remember. Apparently, it’s a feud that goes back decades, and Oliver often wonders if anyone even remembers why it was started in the first place.

“We’ve arranged for you to marry the Slytherin heir.”

Oliver chokes on his inhale, wings twitching fretfully behind him as he registers what his father’s just said. When he gets his voice back it’s only to ask, “You want me to marry some _snake_ shifter I’ve never met? Are you _insane?_ ” His mother reaches out, tries to wrap her arms and wings around him, but he flaps just out of her reach.

“Oliver, we’ve tried everything else,” his father continues, wings rustling in discomfort. “This is the only way to make the peace last.”

Oliver faces them, arms crossed over his chest, and stews. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe she’s really nice and he’s overreacting. “What’s the heir’s name?”

Oliver feels his stomach plummet through the platform until it lands somewhere on the forest floor far below as his parents trade apprehensive looks. That’s _never_ a good sign. “Marcus,” His mother says softly. “His name is Marcus Flint, prince of the Slytherana.”

Oliver turns and jumps off the platform and back into the sky without another word.

He’s not sure flying can even fix _this._

***

He hums. Runs his tongue along the front of his teeth. Tries to keep his wings from twitching. Nothing can calm the twist of his stomach or the persistent tic in his jaw. He picks at his shirt and tries not to feel as stupid and he knows he must look. His mother _made_ him wear the loose, backless tunic that complemented the brown of his eyes. A long-sleeved cream tunic that ties together just above his wings tucked into brown breeches, and brown dress boots that were only good for standing or dancing. What he wouldn’t give for his worn in flight boots that fit his feet like a second skin. He feels clumsy in these boots and wonders vaguely if he’ll trip over his feet when he meets the Slytherin heir.

That would be just _perfect._

Oliver has spent the last month, between his parents telling him he was going to marry this _Marcus_ and now, spending every moment he could in the sky. Still, nothing has helped the persistent black mood he’s been in ever since.

He watches the Slytherin delegation work their way across the fern-covered ground and wonders which one is the prince. They finally reach Oliver and his parents and he can’t help the curiosity that has him peering intently at the group.

“Your majesties,” says one of the advisors, addressing his parents. Oliver doesn’t even spare him a glance. “May I present Prince Marcus of the Slytherana.”

The group of advisers parts as a surly-looking young man marches forward. Despite his frown and the crease in his brow, Oliver can’t help but notice how ruggedly handsome he is.

Marcus is tall, but bulky with muscles that Oliver has to fight the urge to run his hands over. Oliver feels small in comparison, and while he’s not, his slim build is meant more for flying, his body built so that muscles are strong but lithe, bones light so that he can stay in the air as long as he needs to. Marcus is clearly meant to stay on the ground, what with the long ropes of muscle cording his body. Oliver can see the green sheen of scales on his neck, the small patches at the corners of his eyes and just below his ears.

Oliver wonders what it would be like to kiss those spots.

Wait, _what_.

Oliver jerks back from his own line of thinking and it looks like he’s flinching away from Marcus, which he’s _not,_ but it’s too late and Marcus is hissing at him angrily. “I’m not happy about this either but at least _I’m_ trying to be polite.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver says immediately, “It wasn’t you I promise.” He reaches out to briefly touch his hand to Marcus’s shoulder, hoping he believes the sincerity in Oliver’s tone.

Marcus just grunts before going quiet, still scowling. Oliver guesses that’s the only response he’s going to get, and presses on, remembering what his parents told him to say. “I’m very glad you made the journey, and I’m hoping you will be to joining me and my parents for dinner?” Oliver can feel the approval radiating from his mother, and she brushes the tip of her wing softly against his. He waits patiently as Marcus stares unblinkingly at him. He’s not sure what it is he’s trying to figure out, but he evidently finds his answer and shrugs slightly. “I would be honored.”

His voice is deep and soothing. Oliver suddenly wants to hear it again, and as they begin walking towards the lift to take them up into the aerie he finds himself asking Marcus questions for the express purpose of hearing that smooth voice again.

“So, Marcus,” He begins, and waits until he sees Marcus tilt his head in Oliver’s direction. “What do you like to do for fun?”

Marcus snorts, shooting him an amused glance from the corner of his eye. “Fun? I don’t know about fun, but I am most often sparring.”

“Oh, okay. Are you any good?”

Oliver sees his dad tense in front of him and any doubts he may have had of this conversation being private have gone out the window. Marcus just gives him a long look. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, but I’ve been training with knives since I was old enough to hold them. I can assure you, I am quite good.”

“Yes, but can you hit a moving target?”

Marcus gapes at him, turning to face him fully as they ride the lift up into the trees. “Obviously.”

Oliver hums. “I’d like to train with you some time then. I am always looking to learn new skills, and I haven’t yet mastered throwing knives while flying.”

Oliver can hear the way his father’s face smacks into his own palm.

“I mean, I don’t know that I can help with the whole being in the air thing, but I can teach you how to throw a knife while running?” Marcus seems a bit at a loss as to how he ended up in this conversation.

“Excellent,” Oliver nods, “Just send one of my guards to come and get me before you practice.”

“Um, I will,” Marcus says, and Oliver has never heard a person sound more confused in his life.

Oliver smiles. _Perfect._

***

Oliver sighs, and fights the urge to punch Marcus in his perfect teeth for what feels like the seventh time this morning. It’s nothing Marcus did specifically, it’s just the way he won’t stop watching Oliver, like he’s studying him. Oliver wants to be in the sky.

“Mother, can you pass me the bread?” He asks instead, pointedly looking anywhere except for at Marcus who he just _knows_ is smirking at him across the table. He settles for kicking his shin under the table and watches in satisfaction as Marcus winces. His mother passes him the bread.

Marcus has only been here for a week and Oliver can’t decide if he wants to hit the smirk off his face, or kiss it off, but he’s tired of seeing the wry twist of Marcus’s lips directed at him.

“So,” Oliver’s father begins, breaking the silence hovering over the table. “You boys have any plans for the day?”

Marcus takes a sip of his juice. “I think Oliver regrets asking me to teach him to spar.”

“Oh?” asks his mother. “Hoping to learn some new techniques, Oliver?” She smiles at him over the rim of her teacup.

“Hopefully,” Oliver says, throwing a wink at Marcus, pleased when it causes him to blush slightly.

“Just be careful not to actually hurt one another,” says his mother, taking a bite of her breakfast.

“Yes,” his father chimes in, “The last thing we want is for one of you to end up injured, especially you, Prince Marcus.”

“It wouldn’t do for the Slytherin heir to be getting injured at the hands of a Gryffindor, now would it?” Oliver asks, quirking an eyebrow at Marcus’s flustered expression.

“I’d like to see you try and hurt me,” Marcus growls back, but he has a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth up.

“We’ll see,” Oliver says, smirking at Marcus as he bites into his toast. It is going to be an interesting day.

***

His smirk has long since faded as his new fiancé throws him into the dirt for the tenth time in a half hour. He lays still, waiting for air to return to his lungs, and glares up at Marcus who is grinning down at him.

Oliver has just gotten his breath back when Marcus full on smiles at him and then he has trouble breathing for an entirely different reason. If Oliver thought he was handsome before, smiling only makes him _more_ attractive. “That was better, Oliver, but you still suck.”

“Screw you,” he says bitterly, tired of having to flick dust from his wings every two minutes.

“Eventually,” Marcus murmurs into his ear as he helps him up off the ground.

Oliver feels his cheeks flush crimson and he gapes at Marcus, who winks at him flirtatiously.

It’s like he’s become an entirely different person when he’s sweating and covered in dirt. Oliver wishes they were in a more formal setting so that he wouldn’t feel so out of place, but then he sees the way Marcus sighs in contentment at the feeling of earth under his feet and decides he can deal with a little bit of embarrassment.

“One more time?” Oliver asks. He’s starting to get the hang of this sequence and thinks that maybe he can finally get Marcus pinned.

“You’re just going to end up with a mouthful of dirt again,” Marcus teases, grin still hovering on his lips. “Are you sure?”

In reply, Oliver launches a quick flurry of jabs all aimed at Marcus’s chest and stomach. Marcus blocks most of them, but it doesn’t matter much because Oliver uses one of his wings to smack Marcus lightly on the head, just enough to distract him.

In the second Marcus spares to glance at his wing in confusion, Oliver hooks his heel behind Marcus and pushes, toppling him over and onto his back. Oliver quickly moves to straddle his hips, pinning his arms down before he can use them to dislodge Oliver.

“Now who is in the dirt?” He asks, and feels a smug smile tug the corners of his lips up.

Marcus doesn’t say anything for a moment, catching his breath, and Oliver is entranced by the soft green-brown of his eyes, the way the colors swirl and mix together. Marcus just watches him, and Oliver starts to lean forward.

It would be so easy to just let his lips brush against Marcus’s, to let go of his wrists and trail his fingers along the patch of green iridescent scales down Marcus’s neck. He wonders if they’re as soft as they look.

Marcus inhales sharply and Oliver notes how close they are, how easy it would be to drift down those last few centimeters until their lips meet. He wonders if he’s still moving forward.

Someone coughs as they approach the training sands and Oliver is halfway across the arena in a whirl of dust before Marcus can think about blinking.

“Prince Oliver,” says a councilor as they come through the ferns lining the edge of the area. “Your parents would like to speak with you.”

“I’ll be right there,” he says by way of dismissal, and the councilor bows slightly before leaving.

Oliver looks at Marcus, who has now gotten his feet under him. “Thanks for teaching me,” he says before hurtling up into the sky, wings beating furiously to achieve lift. He flies straight for his parent’s balcony and doesn’t look back, missing the way Marcus watches him in awe.

***

In the next week, Oliver spends every morning sparing with Marcus, and while his ego is certainly taking a beating as he gets thrown to the ground time and time again, it’s worth it for the easy smiles and small laughs he gets out of Marcus.

And if his hands linger in Marcus’s a little longer than is _strictly_ necessary when he pulls him up from the ground, well, who’s going to care.

They’re already engaged, after all.

Oliver is getting better, though, and not just at falling. Every day it takes Marcus just a little bit longer to pin him to the ground, and every day Oliver manages to slam him into the ground one more time than he did the day previous.

Marcus starts lingering more, too.

At first, Oliver doesn’t notice, but he ends up pinned beneath Marcus a little longer than he needs to be with each new day, and when he does finally catch on, he notices that Marcus seems to be touching him more, too.

Then again, Oliver muses, he hasn’t exactly been pulling away from Marcus either.

***

Their engagement banquet is held a month after Marcus arrives with his delegation, and while Oliver is excited at the prospect of an evening in his element, it is very clear that Marcus is _not._

“What are you so worried about?” Oliver asks that morning during their sparring session. He dodges a jab to his side.

“I hate fancy dinners,” Marcus says, punctuating each word with a punch to Oliver’s abdomen. Oliver is proud that he manages to dodge all but one.

“It’s just a bunch of talking and dancing,” Oliver says as he uses his wings to give him extra lift in a kick spin. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Maybe not for you,” Marcus says, blocking Oliver’s kick with a forearm and pulling Oliver towards him to throw him off balance. “I hate talking to people and dancing.”

Oliver stumbles into his chest with the force of the pull. “You like talking to me, right?” He asks, and if he’s a bit breathless it’s from the collision, not his proximity to Marcus.

Marcus pauses, hand wrapped tightly around Oliver’s forearm. “I guess talking to you isn’t so bad.”

Yeesh. _Exactly how bad_ is _this guy at flirting?_ Oliver thinks, but then he notices the way Marcus’s thumb is moving in small circles around his wrist and it occurs to him that maybe Marcus doesn’t flirt in audible ways, but he takes a more physical approach to the concept. “Then just talk to me tonight,” Oliver manages to say. His breathing is coming just a bit quicker now, and this time he can’t blame the exercise.

“And the dancing?” Marcus asks, his hand now moving softly up and down Oliver’s forearm. He bends his head closer to Oliver and holds his gaze.

“That too,” Oliver whispers into the shrinking space between them. “Only dance with me.”

“Only you?” Marcus asks, and Oliver shivers as his lips brush against Oliver’s when he speaks. Marcus’s eyes flit between his eyes and his mouth, emerald eyes more black than green at this point.

“Only me,” he says, lips brushing again with the words. Sparks shoot up Oliver’s spine, his scalp tingling, and his wings twitch in anticipation. It would be so simple, just a slight lift to his toes and their lips would meet.

He rises up to his toes and presses their lips together right as a guard parts the ferns around the sparring grounds.

“Pardon the interruption,” the guard says blandly as Oliver and Marcus jump apart once again. “But your mother requests your presence, Prince Marcus.”

Oliver curses his luck. Of course, his moment of bravery would be interrupted by the arrival of Marcus’s family.

“Tell her I’ll be there shortly,” Marcus says, eyes still fixed on Oliver.

“Of course,” the guard says, before smoothly backing away and disappearing behind the ring of ferns.

Marcus strides across the space separating them with purpose, eyes never breaking away from Oliver’s. Oliver gasps as Marcus cups his face between his hands and presses his lips gently against Oliver’s, wings fluttering in surprise. Marcus kisses him softly, teasing his lips apart with his own, sucking his bottom lip in between his own. Oliver sighs into his mouth, his hands traveling up the sculpted planes of his chest and around his neck. The iridescent scales scattered along his neck are as soft as he thought they’d be.

He trails his fingers up into the equally soft strands of Marcus’s dark hair, tugging on them slightly. He’s rewarded with a light groan against his lips. Marcus breaks the kiss, arms coming around Oliver to hug him tightly to his chest. Oliver’s wings drift around the two of them naturally, surrounding them in warmth.

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” Marcus whispers, placing a soft kiss to Oliver’s forehead as he pulls away from the hug.

“Yeah,” Oliver says breathlessly. “I’ll save you a dance.”

Marcus smirks before turning and jogging away.

Oh, he’s in trouble.

***

Oliver is scanning the room for Marcus.

Not that he would like, _admit_ that to anybody, but there is really no point in lying to himself. Not after their sparring practice this afternoon.

“How are things going with Prince Marcus?” His mother asks, catching him off guard as she comes up behind him. Oliver’s wings flinch in towards his back in surprise.

“Fine, Mom,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. He wonders how often he’ll have to fight off a blush tonight.

“You’ve spent almost every morning together for the past month, I’m glad you’re both getting along.”

“Yeah, I’ve learned a lot of new hand-to-hand combat techniques.”

“Oh?” His father says, coming to stand on his other side. Oliver lets the tips of their wings brush in greeting. “I didn’t know he was teaching you.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says, letting his wings relax a bit. “He’s a really good teacher.”

His mother brushes her wingtip along the fold of his wing in affection. “I’m glad you both are getting along so well.”

“I agree,” says his father, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. “It bodes well for this treaty.”

“Is it not set in stone?” Oliver asks, confusion furrowing his brow. “I thought the agreement was final.”

“Not quite,” his mother says, tapping her lips with a finger in worry. “It’s all dependent on if the Slytherana ultimately agrees to the match.”

Oliver feels the ground fall out from under him. “So, I might not get to stay with Marcus?” He asks, trying not to sound like a pouting child. He’s not sure he hits the mark.

“I’m sure everything will work out,” his father says, squeezing the hand on his shoulder in reassurance.

“Darling, you aren’t saying you’ve developed feelings for him already, are you?” His mother asks, peering into his face in concern.

“Of course not,” he snaps, knowing that neither of them believes him for a moment.

“Everything is going to be fine,” his mother says soothingly, her wing brushing against his briefly, just as the Slytherin delegation walks into the banquet hall.

Oliver immediately seeks out Marcus amid the group, walking between two similar looking people that must be his parents. A shiver runs down his spine when his eyes meet Marcus’s, their gazes locked as his family approaches Oliver’s.

“Welcome to our home,” his mother says as Marcus reaches them with his parents flanking him.

Both parties dip their head at one another in small displays of respect. “Thank you for hosting us,” Marcus’s mother says, smiling slightly. “It’s quite hot in our part of the world this time of year. Your home is much more temperate.”

“It’s our pleasure,” his father replies, smiling broadly.

Oliver starts to say something, but Marcus’s beats him to it. “Prince Oliver, may I request your presence in the gardens?”

Oliver glances at his father, who nods in approval. “It would be my pleasure, Prince Marcus.”

He links his hand through the arm Marcus offers him and follows as Marcus leads them away from the watchful eyes of their parents.

 

The gardens consist of several balconies linked together across several large trees. They were covered in sprawling patches of flora and fauna that bloomed and flourished under the care of the gardeners. Narrow paths wind through the flowers, small benches scattered sporadically throughout the gardens.

It’s one of Oliver’s favorite places to be, excepting the sky.

“How was it seeing your parents?” Oliver asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them as they wind their way along a rose-lined path.

Marcus nods, looking down as they walk. “It was good.”

Oliver tilts his head, trying to read Marcus’s expression a bit more clearly. “Just good?”

Marcus glances at him from the corner of his eye, and Oliver feels like he’s being analyzed. “I don’t...always enjoy spending time with my parents,” Marcus says after a long moment.

Oliver realizes that they stopped walking a while ago. He grabs Marcus by the hand and pulls him over to a nearby bench, a warm tingly feeling coursing through him when Marcus makes no move to untangle their hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Marcus hums in thought. “Let’s just say these last few weeks with your family have been the most relaxing of my life.”

Oliver feels a frown tug the corners of his mouth down at this, but just says, “I’m glad you like my family.”

Marcus places the hand not tangled with Oliver’s on the side of Oliver’s face. “I mostly just like you, though.”

“Oh,” says Oliver, the word slipping between his lips in a shocked exhalation. He feels warm and tingly, wings quivering slightly in excitement.

Marcus looks into his eyes, gaze steady and measuring, giving Oliver plenty of time to pull away from him. Oliver meets him halfway, sighing as their lips slip together as easy as breathing.

Marcus kisses him like there isn’t going to be another one after this one, like Oliver is his favorite thing he’ll never see again. Oliver starts to worry as Marcus pulls him closer, wrapping their entwined hands behind Oliver’s back and pulling him as close as he can on this bench.

“I never thought that I’d actually end up liking you as much as I do,” Marcus says, pulling away and trailing kisses down along the smooth skin of Oliver’s neck.

Using his wings for balance, Oliver shifts to straddle Marcus, his free hand running through the short strands of hair on the back of Marcus’s head. Oliver tilts his face up, pressing a soft, easy kiss to Marcus’s lips, trying to convey how far he’s fallen for him in such a short amount of time with a simple kiss. It feels as easy as swooping out of a dive to kiss Marcus, to trail his lips along the sharp line of his jaw. He isn’t expecting the low moan from Marcus as Oliver places a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses to the soft scales on the side of his neck.

Marcus settles both hands on Oliver’s hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows the bones leave. Oliver wraps both arms tightly around Marcus’s neck and their lips crash back together, needy and desperate. Oliver runs his tongue along Marcus’s bottom lip, licking into his mouth to explore the warmth of Marcus’s mouth when he gasps against Oliver’s lips.

Oliver is only distantly aware of the way Marcus trails one hand up his back, reaching the exposed skin of his back just below his wings where his shirt gaps loose, leaving much of his back exposed. He shouldn’t be surprised when Marcus’s hand brushes against the downy feathers where wings join with skin but he is, and arousal spikes hard and fast in his body.

“Oh,” Oliver gasps, head tilting back in surprise. His breathing comes in short pants, echoed by Marcus.

“Your feathers are so soft,” Marcus says, fingers trailing along his soft secondary feathers, fingers threading between the feathers. He runs the back of his hand along the underside of Oliver’s wing, his palm brushing along Oliver’s partially exposed shoulder blade with the movement. Oliver shudders violently at the sensation. “Feel good?” Marcus asks, lips pressing against the skin of his neck as he speaks.

All Oliver can do is nod, too overcome with the sensations to form words as Marcus now uses both hands to stroke over the broad expanse of Oliver’s wings. He lets his wings drift lower around them, bringing them closer to Marcus as he buries his head into Marcus’s shoulder, too lost in the way his fingers thread through his feathers to do anything other than cling helplessly to Marcus and breathe heavily.

“You doing okay?” Marcus chuckles against his ear, fingers still stroking smoothly through his wings.

Oliver just shakes his head, presses a kiss to the scales along Marcus’s neck. “I don’t think you realize exactly what that does to me.”

“Oh, I intend to find out _exactly_ what this does to you, in time.”

Oliver’s breath shudders out of him as he relaxes against Marcus, limp and boneless. “All in good time, huh?” He manages to say.

“I don’t intend to be away from you longer than I have too.” His hands fall out of his wings, coming to rest on Oliver’s hips again.

Oliver pulls back and looks at him, his hands coming up to frame the sides of Marcus’s face. “So I take it you want to go through with this wedding?”

Marcus shrugs, an unsure look flashing across his eyes briefly. “If you want to, then yeah, I do.”

Oliver beams, happy and content in this moment. He presses close to Marcus, wrapping limbs and wings tightly around him. “I do,” he breathes into the soft fabric of Marcus’s tunic.

“Good,” Marcus says, wrapping his strong arms around Oliver’s lower back.

Oliver basks in the warmth and security of the hug. He feels content in the decision they’ve both come to in the quiet of his favorite place other than the skies. The breeze moves quietly through the flowers, making them sway in the silver fall of moonlight.

“We should get back inside,” he says finally, pulling away slightly and capturing one of Marcus’s hands in his own. “It’s our party and we’re not even there to enjoy it.”

Marcus grumbles, “ _You’ll_ enjoy it.”

Oliver grins and stands up, pulling Marcus behind him by their linked fingers. “It won’t be that bad, just stick with me.”

Marcus just squeezes his hand before letting it drop as they walk back into the ballroom. The musicians in the corner of the room are playing one of Oliver’s favorite dances, and he’s about to ask Marcus to dance when Marcus gets pulled away by one of his parent’s advisors to meet some important person.

Oliver sighs and wanders around the room looking for his parents. He finally spots his mother’s soft fall of brown curls and joins in on her conversation with a minor lady of the court, trying not to look like he’s just passing the time until Marcus is free.

He is, and his mother can tell, if the way she keeps brushing the tips of their wings together soothingly is any indication.

He sees Marcus heading towards him out of the corner of his eye and removes himself from the conversation, reaching Marcus just as the music ends and a slower song begins to play. Marcus opens his mouth, but Oliver just grabs his hand and pulls him behind him and onto the dance floor.

Marcus tugs on his hand, causing Oliver to stumble back and around, colliding with the solid warmth of Marcus’s chest. He feels a hand settle on his waist as they begin to sway slowly to the smooth beat of the music.

“Hi,” Oliver says, looking up into the warm eyes he’s come to adore so much almost without realizing. His arms wind their way up around Marcus’s neck.

“Hi,” Marcus says softly. “I was beginning to think I’d be stuck talking about trade routes between our two countries all night.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” says Oliver, not really feeling much sympathy. He’d joined his mother’s conversation only to realize it was about the finer arts of knitting sweaters for winged people in the cold season. “I had to talk about knitting with my mother and her friends.”

Marcus snorts softly in his ear in amusement. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

“And talk to who?” Oliver asks, trying not to shudder when Marcus’s hand brushes against some of his primary flight feathers. He twitches his wings away to prevent another encounter like the rose garden. “You were busy talking about trade routes, my father was no doubt talking about how to properly mull wine, and the only other option was to talk to your parents which I didn’t think was a wise idea without you there.”

Marcus pulls away to look him in the eye. “Don’t talk to my parents alone, please.”

Oliver blinks owlishly up at Marcus. “I was joking when I said that.”

“I know, and I’m saying it would be unwise to talk to my parents without someone with you.”

“Okay,” Oliver says, leaning his head against Marcus’s chest as they continue to sway gently. Sparks rush across his skin as Marcus presses him close, sighing in contentment.

Neither of them realizes that they dance for two more songs before leaving the dance floor.

***

Oliver is sitting on the edge of his balcony outside his bedroom, right wing curled around him as he combs his hands between the feathers gently, looking for bent or damaged feathers and straightening the ones out of place.

It’s his pre-flight ritual, and he’s just started on his left wing when his mother finds him, concern wrinkling her forehead.

A sense of foreboding drops into his stomach like a stone. He can’t remember the last time she sought him out this early.

“Oliver,” she says, and her tone tells him everything.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

His mother nods softly, eyes full of sympathy. “The whole delegation left late last night after the banquet, according to the servants.”

Oliver feels several things all at once; rage, hurt, disappointment that Marcus would let this happen. He sits frozen for a moment, ignoring his mother’s concerned glance and her gentle brush of wing against wing. He makes his decision in a matter of moments.

“I’m going after him,” He says, standing up and walking back into his room to start shrugging on his flight jacket and boots.

“What?” asks his mother, following after him. “Oliver are you sure?”

“I want this to work, Mom. I like him, and I want peace for our people.” He quickly buckles his knives to his legs and waist, strapping them to him tightly and within easy reach while flying.

“Are you sure?” she asks again, and Oliver understands that this is her way of making sure he’s thought this through.

“Yes. He means too much to me to just let him go.”

“Then wait a moment and let me and your father come with you.”

Oliver drops one of his gloves in shock. “What?”

His mother walks to the door and sends one of the servants with a message for the King to come to her ready to fly. When she turns back around Oliver takes in the determined set of her mouth, the way she walks back out to his balcony to fly across the clearing between their rooms quickly so she can change into her flight leathers.

“You’re going to need _someone_ with you to negotiate the agreement between our two clans,” she says over her shoulder. “Meet on my balcony when you’re ready.”

Oliver stands frozen as she flies across the clearing, watching as she lands and walks through the curtain into her room.

He finishes pulling on his gloves and fastening his coat around his torso, making sure the buttons securing it below his wings are all done up. He launches off his platform, crossing the clearing quickly and landing on his mother’s balcony just as his father does. He nods to his father, unsurprised when his father asks, “Is this about the Slytherin prince?”

Oliver nods, but before he can explain his mother emerges from her room, fastening her own flying coat down her back. “We’re going with our son to help him secure his happiness and end a war.”

His father levels a look at him, then says, “Lead the way, Oliver.”

Oliver is overcome for a moment with affection for his parents who will do anything to secure his happiness. He takes a deep breath before turning and diving off the platform, wings snapping out and lifting him up into the sky with the speed from his dive, his parents not far behind him.

***

They fly for several hours before they spot the small train of carriages on the horizon.

Oliver feels nerves twist around in his stomach, and no matter how many knives he has strapped to him he still doesn’t feel confident that he’ll walk away from this exchange in one piece. The feud between their people runs deep, and if _Marcus_ can so easily throw him to the ground, he doesn’t even want to think about what the Slytherin guards will do if they see him as a threat. He hopes that the presence of his parents will keep things civil.

He knows the exact moment when the guards spot him and his parents because the carriages stop and the guards all move to circle them, some jumping on the tops of the carriages to defend against them.

“Fliers in the sky!” They shout.

Oliver follows his father as they dive quickly for the ground several hundred feet away from the carriages. They all agreed on the flight over that approaching from the ground would be the best, and as they draw near Oliver watches the guards relax slightly as they see that they don’t plan to attack from the sky.

“Greetings,” hails his father, speaking loud enough that his voice will carry to those in the carriages. “We have come to speak to King and Queen Flint of Slytherana.”

The guards all exchange wary glances, but none of them move.

Oliver snaps his eyes over to the second carriage where he can faintly hear the sounds of a scuffle. Suddenly, Marcus spills out of the door and bolts straight for Oliver, stumbling over his feet slightly in his haste.

“Marcus!” Oliver shouts, moving to run towards him. His father holds him back with an arm across his chest, his eyes on the guards who are still eyeing them suspiciously and training arrows and spears at them.

“Stop the prince!” Says Marcus’s father, now stepping out of the carriage as well.

Oliver watches anxiously as several guards rush to intercept Marcus before he gets to Oliver, but all those hours of training pay off as he smoothly dodges them, colliding with Oliver as he reaches him. Oliver returns the embrace, flinging his arms and wings around Marcus in a tight hug.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he murmurs into Oliver’s ear. “They made me leave, I would never leave you I hope you know.”

“I know, I know,” Oliver says, too lost in having Marcus in his arms again to pay much attention to what his parents are saying to Marcus’s parents.

“...look at them, how can you separate them?” He hears his father say, and tucks his wings against his back and pulling away from Marcus slightly, trying to focus on what is being said.

“Let them be together, let this war end,” pleads his mother, and his chest feels full of affection for his parents and the boy who laces their fingers together tightly.

“What is holding you back,” asks his father, “Don’t you want peace for our people?”

“What is stopping your parents?” Oliver whispers to Marcus, ignoring whatever Marcus’s parents are saying in favor for Marcus’s answer.

“They don’t believe you really feel affection for me, no matter how much I insist they’re wrong.”

“Perhaps they haven’t seen enough to convince them,” Oliver says, coming up with perhaps the worst idea he’s ever had.

“I don’t know how, they watched us dancing and still insist—”

Oliver silences him by rising on his toes and kissing him, blushing as he hears conversation cease and all eyes focus on them. Marcus wraps his arms around Oliver, pressing him to his chest and kissing him like Oliver’s lips hold the answers to all of life’s problems. The rest of the world fades away and Oliver forgets about his own plan, too lost in the way Marcus is kissing him to think about strategy or how to convince his parents that they belong together.

His focus narrows to the way Marcus shivers around him, the feeling of his fingers in Oliver’s hair and feathers, his tongue slipping past the gap in Oliver’s lips to lick into his mouth. It’s too much and not enough, all at once, and Oliver thinks that he could go the rest of his life and never spend enough time kissing Marcus.

“Oliver, Marcus,” his mother’s voice finally separates them, cuts through the fog surrounding them to bring them back to what’s happening around them.

Oliver blinks, trying to remember what exactly was happening before he kissed Marcus.

“Well?” Marcus asks, glaring at his parents. “Does that convince you?”

Oliver feels dizzy, leans against Marcus a little more as he waits for their responses.

“An agreement has been reached,” says King Flint.

“Marcus, you’ll be staying with us until the wedding,” Oliver hears his mother say, and collapses against Marcus in relief, wings drooping.

“Once you’re married, you’ll split your time between our two countries equally,” says Queen Flint.

Marcus looks at Oliver excitedly, says “We get to stay together?” in the most hopeful voice Oliver has ever heard.

“Yes,” says Oliver’s father. “Yes, you do.”

Oliver throws himself at Marcus, arms and wings wrapping around him in a tight hug that nearly knocks Marcus off his feet. “Come on Marcus,” he says, pressing a kiss to the soft scale-covered skin of his neck. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://mysoulrunswithwolves.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfstar_soul)


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